


And when the party’s over, just don’t forget me

by betterrooms



Series: Can’t deny that I want you, but I'll lie if I have to [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-10 23:53:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betterrooms/pseuds/betterrooms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘He can feel Zayn’s bony knee pressing up against his and the contact seems to burn through his jeans.’</p>
<p>Harry can't help hoping that he can stretch this moment beyond this late night, alcohol infused haze.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And when the party’s over, just don’t forget me

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Take Care, Drake. 
> 
> This is a little anticlimactic, I can only apologise.

Harry knows that it’ll likely never happen again. It’s late, really late, and he’s sitting in Zayn’s cinema room in his house. The two of them are sprawled over the deep sofa. He can feel Zayn’s bony knee pressing up against his and the contact seems to burn through his jeans.

It’s funny, they don’t often hang out alone outside of band time. There’s something about the distance of their days off that magnifies the differences between them. When it’s all five together, faced with a million screaming faces, they’re a united force. They have more in common with each other than with the rest of the whole world. But when Zayn’s with friends from home he’s different. His accent’s stronger. He shares in-jokes with people who’ve known him for much longer, who understand things that Harry could never really grasp. There’s something weirdly lonely about being in a group with a whole bunch of people who know something you don’t. It kind of reminds him of being on the bus when he was younger and avoiding meeting the eyes of a bunch of lads from a rival school. They’d been intimidating because it was like they could smell Harry’s middle class home life, with the pool and the Range Rover. He felt weirdly exposed and sheepish. Zayn’s friends are the same, they can see the slightly spoilt little boy that’s lurking underneath his popstar exterior.

Of course it’s the same when Zayn’s tried to hang out with him and his friends. He and Danny had come out with Grimmy once, snuck in through the pap free entrance of the Groucho and got drunk sitting next to Rio and James. And Harry loves this world, the glamour. Feeling like the centre of the most glittering part of London, the most glittering city in the world. But Zayn and Danny kept exchanging these little looks, raised eyebrows and sideways smiles. And that had tarnished it, Harry felt like they could see through it all, see through him. So he didn’t invite them back.

But tonight was an exception. Zayn was having a party and had sent the usual polite text to all of them, inviting them over if they fancied it. Harry knew Niall often went, brought some of his London Irish friends, maybe a few girls he’d picked up on the way. And there’s certainly been no shortage of girls tonight. Beautiful ones. Slightly trashy ones that they’ve all learnt to stay away from. They’d all ripped the piss out of Zayn after his little tabloid adventure, but it could have happened to almost any of them. They’ve all had careless nights.

Tonight it had just been him though, of the boys. It had been a good time. Not crazy. Good tunes, plenty of booze. And as the party was winding down he and Zayn had gone to the cinema room just to slob out and watch a film. Enjoy the soft, drunken aura of the late night. And they’d gradually migrated closer and closer. As though they were being pulled by some tidal force.

Zayn shifts so his shoulder is resting against Harry’s. He looks over at Zayn’s sharp profile. He’s so fucking exquisite, Harry thinks to himself. The thick, dark sweep of lashes framing those wide eyes. The slight pout of his bottom lip that he keeps pulling between his teeth then letting go, so it bounces back to fullness. He’s slumped down in the seat and his body is concave, skinny chest leading to narrow hips. Long, long legs encased in black skinny jeans and ending in clumpy boots that he kicks off to reveal batman socks.

Harry snorts, ‘you’re such a dork.’

‘I’m not a dork, I’m a bad boy’ Zayn says, laughing quietly, pulling a ridiculous face.

‘Whatever, I can see through you’ Harry answers, hastily shoving thoughts about projecting to the back of his mind. He feels so painfully fond.

Zayn sits up a bit and turns to face Harry. His eyes track across Harry’s face and he can almost feel their path from his eyes down to his lips. The air feels heavy and Zayn moves his hand to just above Harry’s knee. His long fingers dig in a little to the slightly soft flesh of Harry’s thigh.

‘We gonna do this then?’ he asks.

‘um, what?’ Harry’s heart thumps then skips sharply. He feels unsettled. Normally he’s quite smooth, or so he likes to tell himself. He has moves, tried and tested things to say and careful fingers across wrist bones. Right now he can’t move and can’t bring himself to be the one to take this strange tension between them and actually act on it.

‘Christ, man, don’t make me use a pick up line or something’ Zayn says, but it’s quiet, whispery, ‘just, tell me to stop if you want, yeah?’

And he leans forward slowly, into Harry’s personal space. Puts a hand to the back of Harry’s head, tangles his fingers into his curls and gently, so so gently, pulls him forward.

Harry can’t breathe. He feels like the world is going to stop. Not with a crash or a bang, just with quiet, hushed words and soft breath. They kiss. Carefully at first, just lips against lips. But then Harry starts to feel this intense tingling deep in his belly, driving him forward. The warmth of alcohol and the promise of sex makes him reach out, push his hands under Zayn’s tank top. He strokes up his sides, his smooth skin and the bumps of his ribs, before groaning somewhere deep in his throat and pushing Zayn backwards on the sofa. He holds himself above him on carefully sculpted arms.

‘Is this, like, are you? Should this?’ Harry starts.

‘Nice. Eloquent.’ Zayn answers with a slightly raised eyebrow ‘It’s no big deal, let’s just go with it?’

He makes it sound like a question but Harry doesn’t know how to answer. His mind’s racing and he doesn’t know how they got here. Why he feels so much like pushing Zayn into the cushions and sinking his teeth into his neck.

He guesses that if he thinks, really thinks, there have been clues, little flirtations all night. But Zayn is so tender. It’s easy to miss the half smiles and the measured touches.

‘Have you done this though, like, before?’ Harry asks. Mentally kicking himself for sounding like such a dick. Wondering why he cares.

Zayn fully rolls his eyes this time, throws Harry a thoroughly unimpressed look and rolls his hips up.

‘Get on with it, yeah?’

So Harry pulls his t-shirt over his head, watches Zayn do the same, then pins Zayn to the seat of the sofa with his body weight.

Harry feels desperate, the press of his long, flat torso against Zayn’s is delicious. That’s something he’s always loved about kissing boys, the way that they mirror him. Two flat chests, two slightly moulded stomachs, two pairs of strong arms that hold each other closely, matching sets of broad hands that explore the planes of each other’s skin.

He wants so much to unbutton Zayn’s jeans, to pull them down and kiss his lower stomach. Perhaps to wrap a hand around him while kissing his inner thighs teasingly. Maybe to take Zayn deep into his mouth, feel the press of his cock against his tongue and taste the warm musky smell of boy. Kiss Zayn with his lips covered in his come.

Something stops him though. He’s done this a millions times with a million people, but this time there’s a unique fragility to their actions. He doesn’t want to break the spell, shatter this moment that’s stretching out in the early hours of the morning. Right now it feels like to take things further would be to cheapen what they’re doing. Ensure that it really won’t ever happen again. Maybe if he doesn’t, he can artificially stretch this into tomorrow. Keep their kisses going a little bit longer.

Harry doesn’t know how Zayn feels, as he hums appreciatively as Harry kisses his neck. But Zayn isn’t moving his hands any lower either. They both seem content with the gasps and sighs they can generate just by kissing.

They kiss until their mouths feel numb and then gradually stop as the urgency fades away. They lie facing each other and Harry brushes his hand over Zayn’s face, feels the flutter of his eyelashes and makes him shudder by teasing his swollen bottom lip.

They fall asleep like that, wrapped in each other. Zayn’s face pressed into Harry’s neck so he can feel his breath. And Harry knows that it’ll likely never happen again, but that doesn’t stop him wishing as he drifts off to sleep.


End file.
